


listen to the engine whine

by segmentcalled



Series: would it kill you? [1]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bad Decisions, Communication, Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Face-Sitting, Getting Together, Gratuitous italics, Hand Jobs, M/M, Morning After, Multiple Orgasms, New Year's Eve, Oral Sex, Riding, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, that get thoroughly worked out later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: He makes a choice, this time, because he’s sick of sitting in his own depressive spiral. He takes the easy route, the fun route, instead of the smart one. He’s so fucking tired of choosing the smart option. He’s sotired.





	listen to the engine whine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustThePlanets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustThePlanets/gifts).

> _trading swigs from a bottle all bitter and clean_  
_locking eyes, holding hands_  
_twin high-maintenance machines_  
[this year](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eetIgGXH6DA), the mountain goats
> 
> i can only write pwp oneshots or novel-length slowburns and since im working on the final draft of a 75k beast of the latter..... this sort of thing is all youre getting until i finally manage to finish it DKFJGHNF
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH to justtheplanets for writing the concept of this with me back-and-forth in a group chat at 2am (and who i stole some lines directly from LOL) and for beta-ing this and for generally being a wonderful and perfect human being. and shoutout to the gc for enabling this behavior and also generally being wonderful and perfect human beings DKJFGHFJKDG

Pat is a wreck.

Pat has spent approximately the past four to eight weeks a wreck.

No one _warned_ him, is the thing. No one said it would be this bad, the one-two punch of Thanksgiving and Christmas, straight to the kick in the face that is New Year’s, newly single, the pain of it still raw and unevenly healed.

So he makes a choice, this time, because he’s sick of sitting in his own depressive spiral. He takes the easy route, instead of the smart one. He’s so fucking tired of choosing the smart option. He’s so _tired_.

He lets Allegra rope him into going out for New Year’s Eve, with the full intent to get fucked up. If something stupid happens, if he makes shitty decisions — well, that’ll give him something different to agonize about, at least.

He’s two drinks deep before he even thinks to look around enough to check who’s around. Allegra, of course, has disappeared; she’ll turn up again later, he’s sure. He sees some other people he knows — Jeff and Simone and Julia and, _fuck_, and Griffin goddamn McElroy.

Griffin spots Pat at the same time Pat spots him, and crosses over to him. Pat downs the rest of his drink in pure anxiety.

“‘Sup, Pat? You’ve been hanging around the bar this whole time, what kinda party are you having?” He’s grinning, teasing.

Pat smiles at him, wide and brittle, dons his denial like a coat and invites Griffin to do shots with him. Griffin must be just drunk enough not to notice the way that Pat’s pretending absolutely nothing is wrong, that he’s just here to have fun.

Griffin blinks, then smiles back. “Shit, dude, if that’s the type of party you’re having, count me _in_, let’s go.”

Things get a lot blurrier, after that.

He’s dancing with Griffin, and Allegra, and whoever else is jostling elbows with him; he’s pressed against Griffin chest to hips to thighs; he’s leaning against the wall next to Griffin and they’re both giggling like maniacs; he’s touching Griffin again, hands on the soft fabric of his t-shirt; he’s screaming along with the countdown with everyone else in the room; he’s kissing Griffin at the stroke of midnight; he’s kissing Griffin again and again and again and again, messy and sloppy and eager; Allegra is trying to coax the two of them into getting an Uber and Pat keeps yelling _WHOMST_ at her because it makes Griffin double over laughing which makes Pat double over laughing; they’re in the backseat of a car and Griffin leans over to whisper something absolutely filthy into his ear about how he’d like to suck his cock and it’s not only his words but also the hot breath against sensitive skin that makes Pat shiver in delighted anticipation; they’re stumbling up to Griffin’s hotel room and pausing for kisses; they’re behind the closed door and Pat crowds Griffin against the wall to kiss him.

Who’s to say if it’s the alcohol or the kissing that’s making him dizzy, but Griffin’s grabbing his ass and kissing-biting-sucking at his lips and it’s so fucking wonderful that he doesn’t give a shit.

“Can I blow you,” Pat says, in a pause for air, already going to his knees. He braces his hands against Griffin’s hips, leans his face against his thigh so the world stops fucking spinning for a few seconds.

“Shit, Pat, I mean, sure, yes, I’d love that but I’m not — I’m not packing what you might think I might be —”

“Is it a crocodile,” Pat mumbles, thumbing at the button of Griffin’s jeans.

Griffin gets a good laugh out of that. “No, definitely not a crocodile, I promise.”

“Then we’re golden,” Pat says.

“Damn, okay! Alright! Let’s do this thing,” Griffin says, as Pat finally gets the button open and the zipper down and impatiently pushes his pants down his legs. Griffin spreads his legs apart as much as he can with his pants around his ankles, which is good enough for Pat.

Fuck, he _loves_ doing this. He sucks kisses into Griffin’s thighs, bites at the tender skin, until Griffin hisses his name and he tilts his face up to lick at him, gentle lips and tongue as figures out what Griffin likes.

“God, you taste so good,” Pat mumbles against him and Griffin’s hands tighten in Pat’s hair — when did they get there? — and he takes that for encouragement and reapplies himself to the task at hand. He’s not — he’s not necessarily as coordinated as he’d like to be, but he hopes he makes up for it in enthusiasm, because _fuck_, the way Griffin twitches against him, the way his hips roll when he really wants it, the way he moans like it’s been ripped out of him when Pat does something right — it’s so good, it’s so _fucking_ good, he could do this all night, and in fact he says so, his voice coming out rough and low.

Griffin just moans in response. Pat glances up when he hears a gentle thud to see that Griffin has dropped his head back against the wall, throat exposed; his shirt is half-unbuttoned and he’s got a hand teasing at his own nipple; his mouth is hanging open as he pants; he groans _Patrick, don’t fucking stop for the love of god_, and Pat dives back in.

Griffin is _loud_ when he comes; he cries out, spasming against Pat’s mouth, body heaving with his breathing, and Pat works him through it, past it, eagerly, not backing off, and Griffin is whimpering in a way it seems like he can’t even help but he twists the hand he has in Pat’s hair and holds him there so he has no choice but to keep going, let Griffin ride his face; the back and forth between the slow circles of Griffin’s hips and the fervent work of Pat’s mouth, his parted lips, hungry for nothing but to make Griffin feel as good as he can.

“Patrick, you’re a fucking _gift_,” Griffin gasps, sliding one hand to the back of Pat’s neck to keep him where he is and using the other to yank at Pat’s hair, which unsurprisingly makes Pat moan against Griffin. “Shit, shit, yeah, c’mon, Pat, c’mon, baby, you can, _oh_, you can — _fuck_ —”

This time Griffin pulls away from Pat when he’s finished, tugs him back by his hair to look at him. He’s sure he looks wrecked, face flushed and wet and hair rumpled, and Griffin pulls him to his feet. As Pat leans against the wall to get his bearings, Griffin dips into the bathroom to grab a towel and tosses it at Pat, so he doesn’t have to wipe his face off on his arm like he was about to do, and then Griffin kisses him and then he’s guiding Pat to the bed and then he’s fumbling at Pat’s clothes and _shit_ yeah wow he sure is really fucking turned on, good Lord, he nearly forgot in the distraction of taking care of Griffin. Griffin keeps kissing him, gets him horizontal with his clothes off, and Griffin’s naked too and his skin is hot against Pat’s and it’s so fucking beautiful to have someone chest to chest with him like this. 

He jerks Pat off as they kiss, not too fast, comfortable as you please, until Pat comes all over Griffin’s thigh and groans and pushes his face against Griffin’s chest to recover, until he sees the mess he’s made and slides back down Griffin’s body to lick his cum off Griffin’s skin and Griffin inhales sharp and shuddery.

“You ‘kay?” Pat says, pausing.

“Yes, god, ‘s really fucking hot, you’re really fucking hot.”

Pat grins. “Can I eat you out again?”

“_Hell_ yes.” Griffin looks delighted, which is awful flattering. Pat presses slow openmouthed kisses up along the inside of his thigh, following as Griffin shifts to allow him better access to get his mouth where he wants it. 

“Good _god_, Patrick,” Griffin says, slinging his leg over Pat’s shoulder with a grunt, using this newfound leverage to push Pat where he wants him, “_fu-uuck_, baby, that’s real fuckin’ good.”

Pat does his level best to keep impressing Griffin, to keep dragging those breathless praises out of him, to get him to dig his heel into his back and roll his hips helplessly and moan and curse, but he’s fading fast, sloppy-uncoordinated, fuck-drunk, and eventually Griffin pushes Pat away and Pat moves back up the bed to lay down next to Griffin. Griffin kisses at him, but Pat can hardly hold his eyes open, and Griffin pats his cheek and says something that is probably _good night_ and Pat is asleep.

* * *

Pat comes back to awareness by degrees.

The first thing that filters through to him is _holy fucking shit dear lord in heaven above_ does his head hurt.

The second is that he’s naked in an unfamiliar bed.

The third is that he’s not alone.

The fourth, and this is the worst, worse even than the way his head is pounding fit to split his skull as he squints against the morning light, is that the person with whom he is sharing a bed is _Griffin McElroy_.

The hangover is killer, but the heartstopping jolt of sheer panic is on a whole new level. He lays there, the heels of his hands pressed to his closed eyes, and tries to remember anything, even one _single_ thing, that happened after doing shots with Griffin.

Thirty years old and for the very first time in his life he has experienced the phenomenon that is known as _blacking out_, on maybe the worst possible occasion.

He silently pleads with his brain to fucking work at all, _please god before he flips out and has a whole panic attack_ — he hears Griffin roll over and give a sleepy sort of grunt and fuck, fuckfuck_fuck_, Pat may never be able to look at him again in his whole life.

“Hey, Pat,” says Griffin — friendly, okay, that’s good, not angry, Pat can work with that, maybe.

Pat lifts his palm away from one eye and squints at Griffin. “Am I dying.”

Griffin laughs, and he’s smiling at him, all sweet and happy and cute, and Pat wants to bury himself in the fucking _ground_ because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve that smile and god he _wants_ to.

Griffin must be able to see some of this in Pat’s face, or something; whatever he sees must be concerning, because his smile sort of… fades. His eyebrows draw together. “Pat?” he says. “Are you… are you alright?”

Pat lets out a pathetic little whine, despairing and not sexy at all — he has to admit it, he has to, but _god_ Griffin is going to be devastated and he can’t look at him, he can’t look at him while he does it, he closes his eye again and presses his palm back against it and he hates this situation, he hates every single thing about it, but most of all he hates himself when he has to ask, “What happened last night?”

It’s exactly like Pat thought it would be. He can’t see him, but he _hears_ the response, the punched-out breath, the silence that stretches out too long.

The way Griffin’s voice is a little too rough when he says, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know,” Pat admits, his voice barely above a whisper, but audible regardless in the otherwise silent room. Pat wants to disappear, evaporate into thin air, but Griffin doesn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve _any_ of this, so he powers through, wracks his brain for something, anything at all.

He remembers the shots, at least. A little after that, too. Vague flashes of laughter, of lightness that he hasn’t felt in — god — in months, probably. Griffin’s breathing, next to him, is too jagged for him to not be on the verge of freaking out, just like Pat is. He gets it. This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

“We —” Pat starts. Pauses. “We kissed. At midnight.”

Griffin laughs, barely this side of hysterical, and says, “Yeah, Pat, we sure fucking did. Hell of a lot more than just kissing, hell of a lot more than just at midnight.”

Pat aches. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe he doesn’t fucking remember this. He kissed _Griffin McElroy_ and he can’t even remember it.

Griffin’s painful-sounding laughter dies off abruptly; he clears his throat. “Look, Pat, I — I didn’t — I didn’t know that you — that you wouldn’t be able to — fuck. Do you want me to get out of your hair? Clear out, let you shower and get some clothes on or whatever? Whatever you want, just tell me what you need, Pat, I’m so sorry, I really, really am.”

This gets Pat to look at him again. The uncertainty in his eyes is… a lot to take in. All of this is a lot. A lot of emotion to deal with while feeling like this much concentrated garbage. But. Pat doesn’t think it was the alcohol that made him feel so light, last night, and Griffin is — god. Griffin is amazing and wonderful and far too good for him, and his reaction is painful — of course it is, of course he’s upset, because Pat did this to him (and how could Pat not hate himself for it) — but this too only cements Pat’s certainty that Griffin is a good one, that he’s trying to do right by Pat.

So Pat tries to do the same. He reaches deep inside himself to call upon the strength to be vulnerable, to ask for what he really wants. “I actually,” he says, softly, “I actually think it would be nice if you kissed me. I promise to remember it this time.”

Griffin’s expression transforms. The pain in his face melts away — not entirely, but enough — and he laughs, that laugh that Pat knows so well, the one that lights him up from the inside out, and he says, “Not before we brush our teeth, I won’t!”

Pat groans at the mere concept of moving, but Griffin pokes him in the ribs and he squawks — “I’m ticklish, you asshole!” — and so of course Griffin uses these terrible underhanded tactics to chase Pat at the very least into a sitting position. Griffin gets out of bed, and Pat totally definitely does not check him out. He’s hot as hell, of course he is, it’s _Griffin_, and oh, hey, huh, okay, Pat sure hopes he didn’t inadvertently say anything fucking awful last night. He supposes Griffin wouldn’t be smiling at him like this if he had.

There’s only the one toothbrush, but Griffin thinks he might be able to scam one and maybe some more shampoo or whatever from downstairs. He kisses Pat’s forehead and says, “Why don’t you shower, drink some water, take some time to get your bearings. I’ll pop downstairs and we’ll reconvene after, alright?”

“Okay,” Pat says, faintly. He takes Griffin’s wrist loosely in his hand, though he’s not really sure why he does it, and Griffin twists it around and catches Pat’s hand instead, links their fingers together.

“Promise I’ll be back. Do you need anything first?”

Pat considers. “Can I ask a question?”

“Anything,” Griffin says. His eyes are wide, earnest. Pat can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now.

“I didn’t — uh — I’m afraid to know, but, like, I didn’t say anything shitty last night, did I?”

Griffin laughs. “Pat, you asked me if I had a crocodile in my pants and then went down on me. All told, it was probably the best-handled conversation I’ve ever had on the subject.”

“Oh thank god,” Pat says. And then, because he’s a dumbass and not at full functioning capacity, says also, “Damn, I wish I could remember that.”

Griffin smiles, wry, a little nervous. “If we play our cards right, talk our shit out, if it’s still on the table — I’d say I’m open to a reprise.”

Pat’s eyebrows jump upwards; Griffin’s expression softens. “I hope so,” Pat says quietly.

Griffin squeezes his hand again. “I’m gonna get dressed. You shower, okay? Take a little time for yourself, think about what you want, what you’re comfortable with, if there’s anything you need from me. We can talk when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” Pat says. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Griffin says. Pauses, like there’s something else he wants.

Pat hugs him, even though they’re both naked, and yeah, he guessed right, because Griffin _clings_ to him. Pat can feel, this close, that he’s trembling. “Hey,” he says into Griffin’s hair, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Pat,” he says, against his shoulder, voice tight, “we fucked and you were too drunk to remember it. I would say that’s a pretty big fuckin’ misstep on my part.”

“You didn’t know. If I know anything about myself, I would’ve done my best to keep it together. Wouldn’t’ve wanted to miss the chance to do this with you no matter how fucked up I was. I — Griffin, I like you a whole goddamn lot. I’m sure you did the best you could. We’ll get this figured out, okay? Promise. You’re just fine. I’m just fine. I’m, like, a thousand percent sure that no matter what we did, I would’ve consented to it sober, too.”

Griffin heaves a deep sigh. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m super sure.” Pat kisses his head again. “Let me shower, I’m gross as hell, and when I have more of a brain we’ll piece it all together. Okay?”

“Okay.” Griffin steps back; he looks… well, he looks worried, concerned, anxious, and Pat really hopes he can manage to assuage his concerns, because — shit, he wants another chance, he wants to do this right, and if he fucked it up by doing this he’s never going to forgive himself.

He takes an extremely long shower, because goddamn does the hot water feel good. Griffin knocks on the door and Pat grants him entry for him to deliver the aforementioned toothbrush. When he leaves, Pat peeks out from behind the shower curtain to see he’s also brought him a change of clothes and a water bottle and a couple Advil, which is so considerate Pat could die of it.

Griffin’s sitting cross-legged on the haphazardly made bed when Pat leaves the bathroom, hair still wet, dripping down the back of his neck, wearing Griffin’s clothes. He gives Pat a wan smile and nudges a plate towards him.

“I staged a heist from the continental breakfast,” he says, and Pat smiles and sits down facing him, takes a bagel to pick at even though he’s not exactly hungry but he knows that he should eat something. “Also your phone was dead so I plugged it in.”

“I appreciate it,” he says, and then an awkward silence settles heavily between them. It’s Pat who breaks it, not quite looking at Griffin. “So, uh, tell me what happened?”

Griffin chews on his lip, laces his fingers together. “Where d’you want me to start?”

“I guess at the kissing?” He flicks his eyes to Griffin’s face, tries for a flirty smile. “You know me, starting with the fun parts.”

Griffin snorts. “Apparently. Well, you were right, whether or not it was a guess; we’d been like, goofing off and dancing like dumbasses, getting all handsy and stuff, y’know, how it goes when you’re angling to take someone home. We were all up on each other for the countdown and we both went for it, and then we were making out in front of god and everyone, hah. Allegra encouraged us to leave — I think she took a video? You kept yelling _whomst_ at her, to make me laugh, I’d thought, but maybe I should’ve figured —”

“Griffin. It’s not your responsibility to make decisions for me. Neither is it Allegra’s.”

“I should’ve known! Shouldn’t I have? I don’t — Pat, I —”

“Hey,” Pat says, and moves closer. Griffin looks at him, wide-eyed. “Hey, it’s okay, I swear. You wanted it. I wanted it too. I wouldn’t have left with you if I didn’t want to; I’d have pitched a whole fit and stayed with Allegra. I’m a pain in the ass if someone tries to get me to do something I genuinely don’t want to do, and I’m a thousand times more annoying about it if I’m drunk. I guarantee I was being an asshole to make you laugh, and I guarantee I wanted to come back here with you. Will you keep going?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Pat says. He lays his hand deliberately on the bed, in case Griffin wants to take it. He doesn’t take it.

“Okay. Uh. Right. So, like, then we came back here, and we kissed more and whatever and then you asked if you could blow me and I was like uh sure but I might not have what you’re expecting in the pants region and you just fuckin’ shrugged it off like so long as it’s not gonna bite me it’s fuckin’ _fine_ and ate me out like a goddamn champion, didn’t even make it to the bed until you made me come _twice_.”

“Holy shit,” Pat says. “Hell yeah.”

Griffin laughs at that; it’s a little shaky, but seems genuine. “Yeah, dude, it was good as hell. And then I jerked you off and then you went down on me again until you were basically falling asleep on me? Which, like, shit, once I noticed it was more, uh, trailing off instead of teasing pauses I was like, okay nope we are super done here. And then you went to sleep. And yeah. That’s, uh, that’s the story.”

“Goddamn,” Pat says. “Shit, that sounds like it was great, and I’m real fuckin’ sorry that I messed it up by — god — by making some impressively unhealthy and bad choices. But I — I don’t think that, like —” He takes a deep breath, sighs it out slow. “What I’m trying to say here is, I’m kind of a disaster right now. I’m not gonna pretend I’m not. I’m still fucked up over my ex and that sucks, and clearly I’m not exactly killing it in the, the making-healthy-decisions field, but Griffin, seriously, the only thing I regret is that I don’t remember it because I bet you _anything_ that’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me in the past six months.” God, fuck, he feels tears pricking at his eyes, if he cries in front of Griffin right now he is going to hate himself _for ever_.

“Oh, Patrick,” Griffin says, softly, and holds out his arms and Pat crawls over to press himself into them, to curl against Griffin’s body and be held. Griffin is warm, and soft, and Pat is _definitely definitely definitely not_ crying into the shoulder of his t-shirt not even a little bit and he clings to Griffin, just like Griffin had to him not even that long ago. “God, Pat, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have even one single thing to be sorry for,” Pat says, muffled against his shirt, and if his voice comes out wrong Griffin has the kindness not to say anything about it. “You put up with me through all of this and kissed me and took me to bed and took care of me this morning and keep trying to make sure I’m okay and — and I’m not, like, I’m not okay, yeah, you got me there, but it’s not because of you. This is the most anyone’s touched me since —” He breaks off, tries again. “Fuck, Griffin, I like you, I’ve got a whole lot of baggage and a whole bunch of bullshit but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try. If you are, I mean. I don’t know if you want to, I don’t know if you want to keep dealing with me after this, and if not, I understand. But. If you wanted that reprise, if you wanted to try again, if you want more than just that, even, if you want to keep trying… I’m open to it. I’ll do my best. You deserve so much better, but —”

“Shut up,” Griffin says, with no heat to it, no aggression. “You deserve all the fuckin’ good in the world and so help me god if you want me too then, shit, Patrick, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

Pat sits back to stare at him, stunned. “For real?”

“For _real_.”

“Even if I’m a hot mess?”

“Hey, even then, you’re fuckin’ _hot_,” Griffin says, and this makes Pat laugh, which makes Griffin laugh, and then Pat tugs at Griffin and Griffin lets himself be tugged and then they’re kissing, finally, again for the first time, and Pat can’t keep himself from moaning when Griffin slips his tongue between parted lips, kisses him eager and greedy. Pat lets Griffin tip him backwards and get on top of him, push his hands into Pat’s hair, in a way that suggests he’d taken thorough notes last night on what exactly makes Pat respond.

“You good?” Griffin murmurs against his lips.

“Yeah, god, _definitely_ — shit, am I gonna get another chance to go down on you?”

“Damn, you’re real into that, aren’t you?”

Pat smiles, sheepish. “Li’l bit. If you’re not, that’s fine —”

“Pat, you made me come three times last night, and if you can do that while you’re wasted I am _dying_ to see what you can do sober.”

“Okay, wow, alright —”

“I can, like, ride you or something if you’d rather, though —”

“_Fuck_, Griffin,” Pat says, “why not both?”

“Now you’re talkin’,” Griffin says, grinning, and steals a kiss. “Make me come first, baby, I’ll make it real good for you.”

Pat kisses him again, pulls him in close and holds him tight, grateful to have someone to hold on to just as much as he is grateful to have someone holding him. Griffin kisses hot and fierce and sweet, braces himself over Pat, brackets his head with his forearms and grinds on his dick through his pants and Pat whines, a sound he’s embarrassed by for a half-second except then Griffin moans in reply and good Lord he wants him to do that _again_. He slips a hand under Griffin’s shirt and Griffin gives an approving hum, so Pat runs his hands up Griffin’s back, skates his nails over the same path down and Griffin shivers.

Pat’s not even undressed by the time he has Griffin’s legs draped over his shoulders, Griffin’s hands in Pat’s hair and his head thrown back. Pat gets his wish tenfold, because Griffin is _loud_, he curses and moans and sighs and best of all tells Pat what he likes, things like _fuck yeah fuck yes baby keep doing that it feels so good_ and _you’re so good to me, Pat, so good for me_ and _oh christ if you keep doing that I’m gonna_ — and then he breaks off and tightens his grip on Pat’s hair and it’s all Pat can do to work him through it and ignore how desperately turned on he is for like one more goddamn moment.

This patience is rewarded by Griffin dragging Pat up to kiss him, to undress him and get their bodies pressed together. Griffin presses his lips to the side of Pat’s neck. “So can I ride you, or,” he says, and Pat laughs.

“There is, I swear to god, nothing I want more right now,” Pat says. He feels Griffin smile against his skin, and then he is summarily flipped onto his back. Griffin, still grinning at Pat’s now-breathlessness, puts his hands on Pat’s chest for balance and slings his leg over Pat to straddle him.

This is the first chance Pat has to really pause, to take Griffin in without guilt, without shame, instead with affection and desire. He’s hairier than Pat, despite the lighter color of it, and he has a quartet of long-faded surgical scars on his torso; two horizontal lines on his chest, and one on either side of his bellybutton. He has a soft belly and great thighs; Pat rests his hands on Griffin’s legs and looks up at him. Griffin’s watching him right back, calm, kneeling over him, waiting for permission. He’s gorgeous, even sleepy and scruffy, his face flushed and a little smile on his lips, genuinely fond. He touches Pat’s cheek, lightly, and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Griff, please,” Pat says quietly. Griffin presses his cheek to Pat’s cheek, holds his face against his as he lowers himself on Pat’s cock, as Pat gives little shallow gasps of want.

“I got you, baby,” Griffin says, sliding the hand on Pat’s face to the back of his head, “you’re so good, gonna make you feel as good as you’ve done for me, gonna take such good care of you.” He’s talking soft, low, close to Pat’s ear, as he starts to move, keeps up an impressively steady string of praise as Pat fucking whimpers at him, as his hands go to Griffin’s back and hold tight to him.

Pat’s the type to writhe, to move restlessly, to kick out involuntarily, when something feels too good to handle, too good to be able to hold still for. Griffin, by virtue of his position, holds Pat’s hips down, and he has a hand on Pat’s shoulder and the other in Pat’s hair. Pat digs his heels into the sheets as Griffin fucks himself on Pat’s cock; Griffin pulls Pat’s hair and Pat moans his name and then marvels for a second at it, that _Griffin_ is the name he’s lucky enough to close teeth around as he’s getting fucked into the mattress.

He comes hard and unexpectedly, fully intending to give more warning but it’s as though someone slams an exclamation point through his nervous system as Griffin does some new wicked wonderful thing and his hips buck upwards and he makes a choked-off desperate sound as he’s hit all at once by bright-brilliant overwhelm.

Pat pushes himself up to wrap his arms around Griffin’s middle, breathing wet gasping breaths as he tries to get a handle on himself again. Griffin huffs a laugh and strokes Pat’s hair.

“Feel good, baby?” Griffin murmurs, lips pressed against Pat’s temple.

“Yeah,” Pat sighs, eyes closed.

They stay like this for a long moment, until Pat mumbles something about _d’you think you’d like it if I ate you out after I came in you or are you, like, done with that_, and Griffin throws his head back and laughs.

“You are _fucking unstoppable_, holy shit!”

“Sue me, I’m trying to upstage my own dumb ass from last night.”

This is also, apparently, hilarious to Griffin. “Damn, alright, I’m _keeping_ you,” he says.

“I’d really like you to,” Pat says, softly, suddenly vulnerable again, and Griffin hugs him tight, then lets go of him enough to press quick little kisses all over Pat’s face.

“Of _course_, silly, I’m sticking around as long as you’ll have me.” He pauses, pulls a face. “Except I do have to go back to Austin at some point. But! Hey, no, look at me, that doesn’t mean I’m not sticking around in the relationship sense. I mean — I know, like, you’ve got a lot going on, and if you’re not ready for that that’s okay, but… if you’re into it, so am I.”

“I’d like to try,” Pat confesses, reaching out to cup Griffin’s cheek in his hand. Griffin leans into the touch. “If you don’t mind being patient with me.”

“Anything for you, Patrick,” Griffin says, and _oh_ his expression is just as open and vulnerable as Pat feels.

Pat kisses him, gentle, just once, and Griffin sighs against his lips.

“Also: I am _very much_ down to accept that offer of yours,” Griffin says, and Pat laughs and lets go of Griffin so he can put himself where he wants to be.

Pat’s face is between Griffin’s thighs, Griffin holding the headboard for support, when Griffin’s phone goes off and they both startle.

“Shit. Sorry, sweetheart, I should take it, it’s Justin,” Griffin says, regretfully, and Pat slides out from beneath him as Griffin accepts the call. He reaches for his own phone, in the meantime, because he’s sure at least Allegra has probably messaged him.

“Hey, Juice. No, sorry, I’ve been busy — shut the fuck up,” he says, laughing, “no, Pat’s here — oh _shit_ I totally forgot, lost track of time.” He rolls his eyes, exchanges a look with Pat, but he’s smiling. “Oh, okay! Lemme ask. Pat, do you want to go get food with me and Justin?”

“Sure?” Pat says, looking up from scrolling through the zillion eggplant and winking emojis that Allegra sent him last night.

“He says sure. Let us finish up —” Pat can hear Justin say _gross!_ all the way from where he’s sitting “— and we’ll be ready in, uh, maybe a half-hour or so?” Griffin finishes doggedly. “We’ll come by your room, ‘kay? Cool cool. Love you too, see you soon.”

Griffin hangs up as Pat is typing out a reply to Allegra’s most recent message, and scoots over to drape his arms around Pat’s shoulders.

3:33 PM | Allegra Frank  
I haven’t heard from you in like 12 hours so I assume everything went well

3:40 PM | Patrick Gill  
Sure did I will tell you everything once I am home  
Going to get food w Griffin and Justin idk when I’ll be back but it will be eventually and I will give you the whole story lmao it is kinda wild

3:41 PM | Allegra Frank  
LOL in the meantime heres this  
_Allegra Frank sent a video: WHOMST.mov_

“I refuse on principle to watch this,” Pat says, and Griffin snickers.

“Sure, okay, I believe that. Save it anyway, though, ‘cause I think we were in the middle of something before we were rudely interrupted?”

Pat scoffs. “Sure, make fun of _me_ for being into it when you are just as much.”

“Suck my dick,” Griffin teases, and Pat rolls his eyes and lets Griffin corner him against the pillows again.

* * *

Justin takes one look at the two of them — Pat in a sweater of Griffin’s and his own jeans from the last night, probably with bruises from Griffin’s damn mouth peeking out from beneath the collar because there’s no way he could hide them — Griffin normal as can be but _smug_ as all hell — both of them damp from taking the world’s fastest shower, and clearly exhausted — and he sighs at them.

“Happy fuckin’ New Year to both of you, I guess,” Justin says. Griffin grins at him, and swings his and Pat’s linked hands.

“That does seem to be the verb so far!” Griffin says cheerfully, and Justin groans and drags a hand down his face.

“Pat, tell Griffin I’m no longer on speaking terms with him. I’ve disowned him on account of _stop it, you’re the worst_.”

“Aww, hear that, Griffin? He likes me better than you,” Pat says, and Griffin elbows him lightly.

“What_ever_, can we please go already! I would like to eat real food, please.” Griffin says. Justin appears to consider how long he can draw out the not-speaking-to-Griffin bit, apparently comes to the answer of _not any longer_, and shepherds them down the hallway.

As they walk out into the snowy city, Griffin lets go of Pat’s hand to put his arm around his waist, and Pat puts his arm around Griffin’s shoulders and drops a quick kiss on Griffin’s temple for good measure.

The smile he gets in return holds enough warmth to keep all of New York cozy for the rest of the winter. He clings to the thought, to the sight of him, saving it to his heart so that he will never, ever forget it.

**Author's Note:**

> [[justin voice] you lush](https://youtu.be/gZPIDKyGIEI?t=573)
> 
> man it would be so validating to be a trans man and have your whole brand be that youre 1/3 of a group of brothers
> 
> @segmentcalled on twitter etc etc comments and kudos pay the bills

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [crashing and kicking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859070) by [Trigonometrical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trigonometrical/pseuds/Trigonometrical)


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